did."
"Big help. Let's get back outside."
"Wait a second." Floyt transferred the meager data, just in case, then reached for the proteus, but hesitated.
"What's the holdup?" Alacrity said.
"I dunno; some glitch. What's your hurry?"
"Unless you'd care to stick around here, that's my hurry, there."
Floyt looked up. The Blue Pearl was drifting in their direction, light as a soap bubble, smaller craft making way for her, an arresting sight even in the aggregate glory of Frostpile's nighttime.
"Okay; whatever it was, it's all set now." Floyt clamped the proteus back onto his wrist.
They hoisted their bags as the Blue Pearl settled onto the roof without a jar or a whisper. Nothing happened for a moment, then a circular hatch appeared in her lower hemisphere and a gangplank extended itself as music, laughter, conversation, and the clink of drinking vessels drifted out into the night air.
They jogged toward the shuttle, slowing a bit as they crossed onto the grand black and gold carpet.
"Hobart!" It came from afar. "Alacrity!"
Floyt paused. "Alacrity, did you hear what I—"
Sintilla, afoot, was just emerging onto the roof through a distant door. She had a small travel bag over her shoulder.
" Trois fois merde !" Alacrity spat. "Run for it!"
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruisw...Daley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (7 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:28
[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE
They pounded across the last meters of carpet to the Pearl, bags tugging and slapping, robes fluttering like disheveled banners. Floyt, almost twice Alacrity's age, stayed neck and neck. They galloped up the plush gangway.
At the hatch a Celestial waited in dress uniform. As they charged inboard, Alacrity yammered, "Present-and-accounted-for. Let's-get-this-crate-moving!"
The interior of the shuttle was a striking salon of terraced gardens, furnished alcoves, split-level dance floors, and assorted mingling spots, under a translucent three-quarter sphere. Servants circulated quietly with trays of delicacies, beverages, and other treats.
Passengers paused in their conversations to stare curiously at the two harried-looking late arrivals. The Celestial—like all the others they had seen, a big, tough specimen—gave them a dubious glance, then signaled the Pearl's bridge, which was concealed in her base.
The gangway retracted and the hatch swung back into place. The ship lifted away smoothly, without a sound. The chitchat of the passengers resumed.
Out on the roof, halfway across the carpet, Sintilla slowed to a disappointed trot, then stopped.
She was a small woman, barely 150 centimeters, who at times seemed a lot like an energetic adolescent.
She had a dimpled, winsome face and a mop of ginger-brown hair worn in kinked curls. She was dressed in dazzling, metallic cinnabar rompers.
"You bums ! she yelled up at the departing Alacrity and Floyt. "Just you wait!"
She glowered at the Blue Pearl as it drifted grandly over Frostpile, allowing the passengers a final look.
Sintilla pondered whom among the stronghold's personnel she might buttonhole to find out what had happened to the breakabout and the Earther just after the Willreading. All sorts of delightful rumors were bouncing around the scuttlebutt circuit. She also wanted badly to know where they were bound.
Then she spied the ground crewman, lounging against the door of the service dome. Through the door she saw the data station. Putting on a cheery smile, she headed that way in her resilient, peppy stride.
Floyt and Alacrity, meanwhile, set down their bags as several servitors closed in on them with trays of goodies and others took their luggage. Selecting a long-stemmed goblet of greenish wine and a stylish little Perkup nasal inhaler, Alacrity sighed. "Now maybe we can take a few minutes out for a nice, relaxing attack of the shakes."
Floyt, munching a marvelous little hors d'oeuvre, a red ceramic mug of lager in his right hand,
"Big help. Let's get back outside."
"Wait a second." Floyt transferred the meager data, just in case, then reached for the proteus, but hesitated.
"What's the holdup?" Alacrity said.
"I dunno; some glitch. What's your hurry?"
"Unless you'd care to stick around here, that's my hurry, there."
Floyt looked up. The Blue Pearl was drifting in their direction, light as a soap bubble, smaller craft making way for her, an arresting sight even in the aggregate glory of Frostpile's nighttime.
"Okay; whatever it was, it's all set now." Floyt clamped the proteus back onto his wrist.
They hoisted their bags as the Blue Pearl settled onto the roof without a jar or a whisper. Nothing happened for a moment, then a circular hatch appeared in her lower hemisphere and a gangplank extended itself as music, laughter, conversation, and the clink of drinking vessels drifted out into the night air.
They jogged toward the shuttle, slowing a bit as they crossed onto the grand black and gold carpet.
"Hobart!" It came from afar. "Alacrity!"
Floyt paused. "Alacrity, did you hear what I—"
Sintilla, afoot, was just emerging onto the roof through a distant door. She had a small travel bag over her shoulder.
" Trois fois merde !" Alacrity spat. "Run for it!"
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruisw...Daley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (7 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:28
[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE
They pounded across the last meters of carpet to the Pearl, bags tugging and slapping, robes fluttering like disheveled banners. Floyt, almost twice Alacrity's age, stayed neck and neck. They galloped up the plush gangway.
At the hatch a Celestial waited in dress uniform. As they charged inboard, Alacrity yammered, "Present-and-accounted-for. Let's-get-this-crate-moving!"
The interior of the shuttle was a striking salon of terraced gardens, furnished alcoves, split-level dance floors, and assorted mingling spots, under a translucent three-quarter sphere. Servants circulated quietly with trays of delicacies, beverages, and other treats.
Passengers paused in their conversations to stare curiously at the two harried-looking late arrivals. The Celestial—like all the others they had seen, a big, tough specimen—gave them a dubious glance, then signaled the Pearl's bridge, which was concealed in her base.
The gangway retracted and the hatch swung back into place. The ship lifted away smoothly, without a sound. The chitchat of the passengers resumed.
Out on the roof, halfway across the carpet, Sintilla slowed to a disappointed trot, then stopped.
She was a small woman, barely 150 centimeters, who at times seemed a lot like an energetic adolescent.
She had a dimpled, winsome face and a mop of ginger-brown hair worn in kinked curls. She was dressed in dazzling, metallic cinnabar rompers.
"You bums ! she yelled up at the departing Alacrity and Floyt. "Just you wait!"
She glowered at the Blue Pearl as it drifted grandly over Frostpile, allowing the passengers a final look.
Sintilla pondered whom among the stronghold's personnel she might buttonhole to find out what had happened to the breakabout and the Earther just after the Willreading. All sorts of delightful rumors were bouncing around the scuttlebutt circuit. She also wanted badly to know where they were bound.
Then she spied the ground crewman, lounging against the door of the service dome. Through the door she saw the data station. Putting on a cheery smile, she headed that way in her resilient, peppy stride.
Floyt and Alacrity, meanwhile, set down their bags as several servitors closed in on them with trays of goodies and others took their luggage. Selecting a long-stemmed goblet of greenish wine and a stylish little Perkup nasal inhaler, Alacrity sighed. "Now maybe we can take a few minutes out for a nice, relaxing attack of the shakes."
Floyt, munching a marvelous little hors d'oeuvre, a red ceramic mug of lager in his right hand,
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